To Say Three Words
by katierosefun
Summary: …or ninety-nine ways the Doctor or Clara Oswald tells the other 'I love you' without saying the actual words. (And then there was the one way they actually did say the three words.)
1. Pull over - let me drive

Hello, everyone! Katierosefun aka Caroline here - and I'm back with a new Whouffaldi story! I had this idea floating around my head for a while now (and I was inspired by a tumblr post with a bunch of RP scenarios and though I'm not really one to RP, I thought the one-liners in the post made for wonderful prompts). I know this story is going to be long (one hundred chapters, phew!) but I fully intend on completing this.

(Also, this sudden release may or may not have something to do with the next _Doctor Who_ episode. I'm not okay. I'm really not.)

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message One._

 ** _" Pull over; let me drive." _**

There were some things Clara Oswald could never picture the Doctor doing. _One,_ it was karaoke. _Two,_ it was break-dancing. (Now, _that_ would be an embarrassing sight to witness.) And _three_ , it was driving. _Actually_ driving with an _actual_ car instead of a TARDIS with hands on an _actual_ wheel and foot pressing an _actual_ gas pedal. Clara just never pictured it. Seeing the Doctor driving a car would be like seeing him pretend to be a caretaker again – completely unusual, suspicious, and definitely dangerous.

But when the Doctor had come to Clara this morning, his TARDIS had broken down ("it needs to re-fuel itself – should be better in a few more days," he had grumbled, giving the box something of a pat and an annoyed flick of the fingers), and Clara couldn't stay for the weekend. She had promised one of her old university friends that she'd come over since it had been forever since they'd last talked – and Clara had even got the car ready.

And that was when, completely out of the blue, the Doctor volunteered to drive.

"I was there when the automobile was invented," the Doctor had argued when Clara interjected. "I was there when _cars were gotten rid of_ because of the air pollution it was causing." ("What?" Clara had asked, bewildered. "Long story, way in the future," the Doctor replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.) "I've driven sophisticated, advanced forms of transportation – driving a car is ridiculously easy for me."

It took a fifteen-minute argument, a big thermos of tea, and promises that the Doctor wouldn't do anything stupid to persuade Clara into letting him do the driving.

And to her great surprise, it actually started off decently. Clara was nestled in the shotgun seat, earbuds plugged in and streaming comforting music. She watched cars go up and down the highways as the Doctor drove. Rain started to fall from the grey skies above and Clara eventually turned the music off, instead tuning to the way the windshield wipers squeaked against the car glass and how the rain hit the roof of the car with satisfying _drip-drip_ sounds. She looked over at the Doctor every few minutes, making sure that he was focused and not staring off or thinking about some other place to be.

And the Doctor _was_ focused, never taking his eyes off the road and hands tapping on the wheel. He occasionally drank from the thermos of tea, but besides that, he was mostly still.

"When was the last time you drove a car?" Clara asked at last, not able to take the silence any longer. Whenever she drove by herself, she liked to sing under her breath – not that it was an option right now. The Doctor only took a second to glance over at Clara before returning to the road. "Maybe a few hundred years ago," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was a bit of a boring time – I had to drive someone because a cab broke down in the middle of the street and we had to get away from these nasty Zygons – they weren't too friendly. And it's amazing how fast a car engine can go if you urge it enough. Then again, I might have cheated a bit – had to use the sonic."

Clara smiled to herself. "Got it," she said, turning back around to face the front. "But since we're not running from Zygons, you don't have to kill the engine or use the sonic, yeah?"

"Of course not – it'd scare everyone off the highway in minutes and we honestly can't have that. Too much of a trouble, and then everyone will begin making random predictions about the apocalypse just because a car somehow drove everyone off the highway…" the Doctor murmured. Clara snorted. "I don't think that'd be the reason for people to begin ruminating about the apocalypse," she said.

"I don't know – you saw how they were like when they found the Mayan calendar, didn't you? I thought some of them wouldn't shut up." The Doctor shook his head, making a soft _tch_ ing sound of disapproval. Clara only curled a bit deeper into her seat and listened with some comfort about the Doctor's various encounters with people raving on about the madness of the universe. His voice slowly blended in with the constant pitter-patter of the raindrops and the brush of the air conditioner, and Clara honestly felt more at ease than ever.

xXx

Clara hadn't meant to fall asleep to the Doctor's voice, but she did. She couldn't remember why – maybe it was the way his words seem to blend together (like a wool blanket, not that she'd ever admit that out loud) and the way the rain was dropping against the windows, but Clara slept and didn't wake until night fell.

It was completely dark in the car when Clara woke up with a small intake of breath. She was confused by where she was for a moment, feeling unsecure in a moving vehicle – but after patting around and blinking past the dim lights of other cars beside her, she remembered where exactly she was and how exactly she got into this situation.

And taking a few deeper breaths, Clara turned to look at the Doctor again. His hands were completely still this time – before, they had always been moving (rotating around the wheel, drumming against the surface, fidgeting at the corners) – and judging by his expression, the Doctor hadn't moved in some time. Clara watched silently as he reached for the thermos of tea – only to come short when coming to the realization that it was empty (and Clara knew that, too, because the non-present sounds of tea sloshing inside was a big enough clue) and return to the road.

Clara even waited to see how long it would take for the Doctor to say something like, "I know you're awake", "we're almost there", or maybe something as simple as, "it's still raining."

He didn't.

And when Clara asked, "How long have you been driving?", the Doctor blinked in surprise – he hadn't expected Clara to be awake, either. Pressing her lips together, Clara sat up straighter and threw her jacket off her legs. "Doctor?" she asked quietly. "Aren't you tired by now?"

"No," was the Doctor's instant response. "You know me, Clara – I can stay awake for as long as I wish –"

"Only you get tired sometimes," Clara interrupted gently. "I just saw you – you're not moving around as often as you would; you've drunk the last of the only caffeinated thing in the car; you've got that _look_ that I think I last saw when I was still in university…and that was right before my friend collapsed into bed after going without sleep for four days in a row."

"Gallifreyans don't have _looks_ , Clara – and _really,_ four days?" the Doctor responded bluntly.

"Yeah, but you do now," Clara said, the corner of her lips twitching into a smile. "C'mon – you should pull over. Let me drive."

"I told you before that I was going to drive."

Clara folded her arms across her chest. "Doctor," she explained patiently, "I'm twenty-nine years old. I've been driving since I was eighteen – I know how to drive and I can survive without you driving for a few more hours." The Doctor still didn't stop the car, saying, "You'd be tired."

"I slept enough," Clara replied, shrugging her shoulders. "And to be honest, I think I'm in better shape than you." She watched as the Doctor reached for the thermos yet again – and then come short. "See, there you go," Clara said with a nod at the gesture. "You're tired."

When the Doctor didn't give in, Clara sighed and said quietly, "I'll let you drive the second I feel tired, alright? Now pull over." Clara waited for one minute – then two – then three – and finally, the car came to a slow stop at the side of the road. Smiling, Clara stood and opened her door. She walked around the car and opened the Doctor's side door, letting him out so she could slide into the driver's seat.

When the Doctor had seated himself into the shotgun seat and fastened himself in, Clara took the wheel and started the car back up. She gently pressed the gas pedal and drove for some time before asking, "See, this isn't all that bad, now, is it?" She didn't hear anything from the Doctor.

Sighing, Clara added, "I know you wanted to drive, Doctor – and that's incredibly…" She tried to find the right word. "That's incredibly _polite_ of you," she decided to say (though it sounded too formal and all wrong), and added, "but you ought to take a break once in a while. Let other people do the little things, yeah? Just to show that you don't need to get out of your way to be nice to everyone?" Clara paused and letting herself laugh, she murmured, "Even though you've got a funny way of showing it. You've got to agree with me on that, Doctor."

Still, no response.

Clara frowned. "Doctor?" she called, turning to look over at her friend – and her face instantly softened at the sight sitting before her.

The Doctor had his head tilted slightly back, his eyes closed and his hands clasped over his lap. He took in a deep breath – Clara could see the rise and fall of his chest – and let out a soft sigh as he seemed to sink deeper into sleep. If Clara hadn't been driving, she would've been tempted to do something – maybe smooth back his hair, make him more comfortable…something –

But then a car honked rather rudely at Clara and blinking out of her impossible daydreams, the young woman snapped her eyes back on the road, keeping her hands clutched tight over the wheel. She didn't look at the Doctor again for the rest of the trip.

* * *

 **A/N -** I'm not sure how quickly I'll update this. As of now, I'm hoping for at least once a week, but as time rolls by, updates might either slow down/speed up. Let's just see how it goes!

As always, reviews are welcome! Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!


	2. It reminded me of you

In my blind stumbling of agony, I decided to just post this. After tonight, our fandom needs some denial time. (No Clara my baby come back so you can kiss the Doctor and go save planets and we could all live happily ever after please please please come back.)

(I'm still crying. I'm not ready to let Clara Oswald go and now she's gone holy fRICK WHY)

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Two._

 ** _"It reminded me of you."_**

Clara didn't need to look into her living room to know that the TARDIS was parked in her apartment. All she needed to do was to listen. If it was too quiet, then she'd know that the Doctor was inside – if it was too loud, she'd know that the Doctor was inside, probably doing God-knows-what – but anything in between meant that she didn't have any visitors. However, today, the minute Clara opened her apartment door, she knew.

She was glad of that, too, because she had brought home something she had found in a small shop. And she didn't even know how interesting it was until she walked by it a few times. It was something rather peculiar, but then a familiar image of the Doctor passed through her mind.

And then Clara bought it – bought it without really thinking about it, to be honest.

"Is that you, Mrs. Johnson, because _honestly_ , you need to stop badgering on about the rent – it's not due for another two weeks," the Doctor hollered from inside the kitchen. Clara paused at the front of her door, in the middle of taking off her shoes. She heard the Doctor shift around – and then he was coming to the front, still saying, "Haven't you got anything better to do besides bothering perfectly well-off people? Clara's got a job – she's got _things_ to do – _great, important things_ – paying rent two weeks before it's due really _wouldn't_ be at the top of her –"

The Doctor stopped short. Clara held up one of her heels, asking, "Mrs. Johnson came by again?"

He quickly recovered. "Yes," he said, disgruntled. "Nosy old landlady. Kept asking me if I was one of your co-workers. And I told her that _yes,_ I'm technically a co-worker, and then she asked me what I would be doing in your apartment and _I told her_ that this was a normal thing. She didn't believe me! She kept threatening to call the police, even though I _told_ her that that really _wouldn't_ be necessary – how _can_ you deal with people like her, Clara? I simply don't understand it. Dull pudding-brain creature too, don't you think? I can smell hamster food on her sweater. She has _hamsters_ , and they really are distinguished animals, but I can already tell that she calls them silly names like Gibbles or –0r –" The Doctor stopped and turned to Clara again. "Quick! What other silly names are there for hamsters?"

Clara opened her mouth to speak, but the Doctor threw up his hands. "Never mind," he muttered. "But I had to tell her that _yes,_ this was a normal thing for us and then she asked us if we were _related_ , and then I had to explain to her of _course_ not! I mean, look at me! I'm _Scottish_. At least, I sound Scottish!"

Clara grinned. "Look at you," she said, shaking her head. "Getting all moody about Mrs. Johnson. There's really no reason to go off at her like that – she's had some bad people living in this building before. One couple wouldn't pay the rent until practically three and a half weeks after it's been due – she's now got something against younger people, but really, I try not to hold it against her." She slid her shoes to the side of the hallway, adding, "Besides, why _are_ you here? Not that I mind, of course, but anything interesting to see? Should we get cocktails on the moon again? Or see the Opera in Mars?"

The Doctor flung sat himself down on the couch. "I've been thinking of visiting a new planet today – very lovely, all purple and blues. I think you might like it." He looked up at Clara. "There's been something odd going on there, too – might need to check it out."

Clara dropped her bag against the ground. She shrugged off her coat, threw that on the couch (just narrowly missing the Doctor) and replied lightly, "But of course. You can't say no to trouble." The Doctor clasped his hands together. "When have I not?" he asked.

Clara let out a small laugh as the Doctor hopped back to his feet. She had gotten used to constantly travelling with the Doctor lately – it's been a thing of habit at this point. Sometimes, the Doctor will vanish for a few weeks – but most of the time, he's been coming in every few days or so. Frankly, Clara wasn't complaining. After Christmas, everything had just come flooding back to her – she missed this. (She missed him. She wasn't planning on ever letting this go ever again.)

As the Doctor started to open up the TARDIS doors, Clara snapped her fingers. "Oh!" she cried out, diving back to the side of the couch again. "I nearly forgot –"

"Clara Oswald forgets something – that's something you don't hear every day," the Doctor said loftily from the TARDIS. Clara looked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue. "Shush, you," she replied cheekily, tugging open her bag. "I got caught up in you grumbling on about Mrs. Johnson. Have you ever gotten lost in your own rambles?"

"Every once in a while. Makes my throat hurt," the Doctor answered. Clara rolled her eyes, though there was no annoyance (or even exasperation) in the expression. "Anyways," she said, reaching down inside her bag, "I was walking past this little stand while coming home today from work – and I kept passing by this, because…well…" She curled her fingers around something soft.

 _A-ha!_ Clara smiled to herself. _There it is!_

She pulled out the little grey blob and flung it out to the Doctor. Beaming, she said, "It reminded me of you!"

The Doctor stared down at the object in Clara's hand.

"Clara," he said slowly, "it's a little…owl."

"I know!" Clara replied happily. She squeezed it, and the stuffed doll let out a soft _hoo_. "See?" She turned the owl towards herself, her smile widening. "Doctor," she practically sang, and squeezed the owl again, who chorused back, " _Hoo._ "

"Doctor –"

" _Hoo_."

"Doctor –"

" _Hoo._ "

"Doctor –"

" _Hoo_."

Clara looked back up at the Doctor. She handed the little owl out to him, and after a full beat of silence, the Doctor took it from her. "See?" she asked brightly, walking around him to the TARDIS. "Isn't it adorable?"

"I reminded you of a stuffed owl?" the Doctor only asked, following Clara into the TARDIS.

"A little. Take it as a compliment." Clara headed straight for the console, laying her hands out on the controls. She took a look at the screens – she could already see the planet that the Doctor had chosen. He was right. It looked like it was in an odd (but beautiful) shade of blue and purple. She briefly wondered if it would be all water – or all land – or perhaps nothing at all. _That_ would be interesting –

" _Hoo_."

Clara whirled around to see the Doctor just shoving the owl behind his back. She stared for a few moments – and felt a smile stretch across her lips as the Doctor's expression grew more and more sheepish.

"So…I'll take it that you like it?" she asked cheerfully.

" _Hoo_."

"I'll take that as a yes," Clara laughed.

* * *

 **A/N -** After that episode, I can't even form a coherent thought. I'm just gonna...live in this Whouffaldi state of denial. (What, no - Clara's totally alive. Yeah. And everything's fine. EVERYTHING IS FINE. TOTALLY.)

Reviews would be nice - constructive criticism is tolerable. Flames are not. (Honestly, if one person even dares to tell me something negative about Clara Oswald or Whouffaldi right now, I wILL FIGHT YOU.)


	3. No, no, it's my treat

...so, who else cried in the last episode of _Doctor Who?_ *raises hand frantically* _Heaven Sent_ is officially the best and saddest episode in _Doctor Who_ history. Hands down. Don't even argue. And as any other Whouffaldi shipper, I decided to wander back into my denial land. *gestures* Come, come.

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Three._

 ** _"No, no, it's my treat."_**

"Why are we here again?"

"Because you promised me – you _promised_ me we'd go to an open-space market for once! An actual open market! In _space!_ With the stars everywhere and everything!" Clara grinned, poking the Doctor in the ribs. He winced, rubbing at the spot and giving Clara a rueful look. She only smiled again, saying, "Not to mention that I've wanted to see what I've been missing. I _like_ shopping."

"This isn't exactly your average souvenir shop, Clara," the Doctor replied with a shake of his head.

"Well, I know _that,_ " Clara rolled her eyes, "but just look!" She left the Doctor's side, grabbing a little snow-globe from one of the booths. Holding it up before the Doctor, she said happily, "Look! Snow-globe! From space! Space snow-globe! Not too many people can say that, can they?"

"You'd be surprised."

"From my _time_ ," Clara replied pointedly. She placed the snow-globe back down on the booth. Wrapping a hand around the Doctor's arm again, she added, "Besides, there's got to be some things that at least _you_ particularly want to see. Or would like to see. Or even want to buy."

The Doctor looked down at Clara, his grey eyebrows furrowed together. "I'm not too sure of that."

Clara snorted. "You've got a hoarding problem, Doctor," she pointed out. "Literally. Everything. In. Your. TARDIS. Is. Something that's been horded!" She clapped another hand over the Doctor's arm. "Don't you remember? Just yesterday, I found that big room with all of the…stuff. And things. Some things that I don't think even _you_ know it's true purpose is for."

"Then why are we here?"

"Because you promised!" Clara said gleefully. She skipped away from the Doctor's side, narrowly evading a few other customers. She heard the Doctor made a sound of protest, but it was quickly lost to the rest of the noises around her. Clara slowed down just a little – she made sure that she'd always be a few steps further than the Doctor, but she wasn't walking fast enough that he'd lose her completely.

Meanwhile, though, Clara took the time to appreciate the sights. She had been to many of these markets before, and each time, they looked completely new and different. (There was one time the market resembled an Aztec-like city. Another time, the market looked like one of the markets in the Middle East. And on a completely different occasion, the market looked like nothing at all, just a blank, white space with people milling around in between little black booths of invisible items. _That_ day had been particularly interesting, though Clara wasn't too sure if she had liked that experience or not.)

But today, the market was a beautiful red and orange ombré color, with the black sky encasing the whole place. There were stars all around them – nebulas, galaxies, remnants of supernovas…that was another interesting thing about this particular market. There was no boundary or atmosphere from keeping anyone into looking at the stars. ("Markets are usually able to adjust to this kind of thing," the Doctor had explained. "Location, location, location.")

There were glowing orbs of light floating near the booths, occasionally changing color each time a different person walked by. (Clara had already figured out that her colors were blue and purple. Which she found just fine. The Doctor's colors were always blue and red, on the other hand, which seemed to suit him.)

Clara came to a short stop in front of a booth that was selling foreign and exotic-looking flowers. Feeling her heart skip a few beats in excitement, Clara leaned forward to inspect the plants. Some of them vaguely resembled the ones on Earth, while others looked completely different at once. (There was one flower that seemed to have a face. Clara was sure to steer clear of that one.)

"We could always just go to the planets that have these items," the Doctor said from Clara's side. She lifted her head and with a smile, plucked a single flower from one of the vases. She lifted it up to the side of her face, only asking, "What do you think of this one? I could always try to keep it in my apartment."

"Or you could keep it in the TARDIS. Might have better conditions."

Clara snorted. "Some parts of the TARDIS are radioactive and it's constantly switching rooms. I don't want to subject a flower to _that_ kind of horror, thank you very much!"

"One time," the Doctor murmured. " _One. Time._ "

"One time that resulted in multiple holographs, a dead ash-lava thing, and alternate realities," Clara shot back. She rubbed at the flower's petals tenderly, adding, "Besides, I think my apartment could always use with more color."

With that said, Clara turned to the front of the booth, looking for the owner. "Excuse me!" she called into the booth. "Sorry – I wanted to buy this flower? How much is it?"

A sudden thought crossed Clara's mind and then she was spinning back to the Doctor, asking worriedly, "You don't think we have to pay with our heirlooms, do you? Because I don't really have anything on me…ah!"

Clara jumped – and was vaguely aware of the Doctor's hand suddenly grabbing her arm – as something fell over her shoulder. She whipped around to see a person (she couldn't tell if the alien was a woman or man or something else altogether) with long, scraggly hair and a full face of eyes of all colors and shapes. Some were looking at the Doctor, others were focused on other customers, others on little flies buzzing around. Only one set of eyes was focused on Clara.

"How may I help you?" the booth owner asked, its voice quiet and dull.

"Ah! Yes!" Clara held up the flower again. "I would like to buy this!"

The alien regarded Clara warily. "Can't do," it replied, turning away. "Don't sell to humans."

Clara's face fell. "But there are plenty of other humans here!" she protested. "Why would you even bother setting up the flowers in the first place with other human customers milling around?"

"Don't sell to humans," it repeated, all of its eyes narrowing at once. Clara felt a chill run up her spine. Swallowing back her disappointment, she started to put the flower back in its designated vase –

"I'll pay for it," the Doctor said suddenly. "I'm not a human – as I'm sure you've already picked up."

The alien only laughed – a harsh, wet sound that caused Clara to shudder. " _You?_ " it asked haughtily. "Why would someone of _your_ kind associate with humans?"

Clara shot a curious glance at the Doctor, though he didn't seem to notice.

"I'll pay for it," he only repeated. "How much?"

"Doctor," Clara hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "Really, we could always go to a different booth – you don't have to –"

"No, no," the Doctor looked down at Clara. He paused. "You wanted the flower – seems hardly fair that this stubborn fellow won't bother giving it to you." For a moment, Clara thought she saw a smile linger over the Doctor's lips. "Besides, it's my treat. I made you a promise, didn't I?" He turned back to the alien. "Now – _how much?_ "

xXx

"I can't believe you got into a fight with the booth-keeper," Clara said with a small laugh. She held the flower in one hand, the other tucked over the Doctor's arm. "I thought she was going to eat you alive."

"They, actually," the Doctor replied casually. "Not a she. _They._ "

"Ah, alright," Clara said. " _They._ I can't believe you got away with it."

"Hundreds and hundreds of years of traveling in time and space – you have to pick up a few skills in bargaining here and there," the Doctor responded. He flitted his eyes down at Clara. "The flower would…" His voice trailed off awkwardly. "It would look better siting on the windowsill in your kitchen, don't you think? That particular spot always looks gloomy, all white and cream-colored and grey – and you know how much _you_ hate gloomy."

Clara twirled the bright flower in her fingers. "I think you're right," she responded cheerfully. "It would look just right near my kitchen window." She gave the Doctor's arm a quick squeeze. "Thank you. Again."

"…you're most welcome."

* * *

 **A/N -** Because...*sobs* Because the Doctor would totally fight to get Clara a flower. *sobs again* Because...that's what he's doing...right now, right? *buries face into pillow* (I'm still not over this. Someone, please give the Doctor a hug. TWO BILLION YEARS. Dear _God_ , the Doctor has been listening to Clara Oswald for hope for two _billion_ years.)

As always, reviews would be great! Constructive criticism is okay, but flames are not.


	4. Come here - let me fix it

So...I may or may not be very much dead after watching _Hell Bent_. I'm so extremely dead inside. (And I know that the moment I get out of this stupor of post-Whouffaldi depression, I'll be releasing more works about those two because _honestly, that ending though._ )

But I've written this chapter a few days ago - I've been saving it up because I know that I'm going to want to stay in my happy Whouffaldi land, so here we go. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Four._

 ** _"Come here. Let me fix it."_**

Clara walked into the TARDIS to hearing loud, repetitive clanging sounds. She froze in her tracks, bewildered, as the clanging sound persisted – and then came angry, dark mutterings from…was that in the lower level?

Clara hurriedly threw her jacket aside, calling uncertainly, "Doctor? Doctor, are you alright?"

"Clara!"

Clara ran down the stairs, heart jumping up in her chest. "Doctor?" she shouted. "What's going on?"

There were a few frustrated sounds – and then the Doctor was barreling into Clara, holding onto a large, metal box with both hands. "I forgot you were coming over right now," the Doctor was saying, slamming the box onto the steps. Clara jumped a little and moved briskly out of the way.

Crouching next to the Doctor, Clara placed a hand on the box. Heat stung underneath her fingertips – and Clara pulled back, a shrill cry leaving her lips.

"Clara!"

Clara felt the Doctor sitting by her, his hands already gingerly making their way over her fingertips. "Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked worriedly. He shot the box a venomous look. "I _knew_ I should have gotten rid of that useless thing ages ago…"

"I'm fine," Clara grimaced, rubbing her hands together. She gave a slight nod to the box. "What's that thing for anyways?"

"Some broken hologram-map," the Doctor replied dismissively. "I thought it'd lead to some ancient city – and I was bored, you know. Things just pop in and out of the TARDIS sometimes – you know that by now – and then I was trying to figure the map out…when I realize that it's broken. I tried fixing it with my sunglasses, only that didn't work – and now I think my sunglasses are broken. They got roughed up the last time I used them…" His voice drifted. With a soft growl, he gave a light kick at the box. "And now the damn thing keeps overheating."

"Not its fault," Clara said lightly, though the rest of her expression dissolved into a grimace. She started to stand up. She'd have to run over some cold water – and almost as though her thoughts were read, the Doctor stood up to pull down what seemed to be a shower nozzle. Icy water drizzled down on her hands, and Clara smiled gratefully in response.

"Well…" Clara tilted her head to the box. "How are _you_ able to touch it without getting a burn?" A corner of her lips twitched into an excited, amused smile. "Is it a Gallifreyan thing? Or an alien thing?"

"Close," the Doctor responded, shooting another resentful look at the box. "Cream developed by an alien race known as the _Calor resistentia_. Also known as heat-resistant. I would call it clever and convenient species-naming, but it was actually the humans who first named them when they found them in the twenty-second century – but ah, that doesn't matter anymore. Damn thing's broken. I might have to sleep on it."

"You never sleep."

"True."

"Only once in a while, though."

"Also true." The Doctor stood up and bent down to pick up the box. He grunted softly as he hoisted it up the stairs. He only got up a few steps before slamming it back down to the ground. "You would think that a holo-map would be less heavy than _this_."

"Must be some map," Clara replied, hopping up the stairs. She sat down next to the Doctor, spreading out her hands. "Go on – give me that special calor-something-something cream. I can help you carry it up."

" _Calor resistentia,_ " the Doctor corrected. He tugged a small, clear tube out of his jacket pocket – and after taking Clara's hands, there was a strange, tingling sensation in the palms. Clara stared down her hands with some fascination as the cream dissolved straight into her skin, leaving behind a faint tropical smell.

"Wouldn't mind using that as an actual hand lotion," Clara said lightly.

"You can only use it when you're about to carry things that were specifically made by the _Calor resistentia_ ," the Doctor replied, standing back up to his feet. "If you tried to excessively use it for other reasons, it might end up burning your skin."

Clara grimaced. "Never mind, then. Where do we start?"

"You take one corner, and I'll take the other," the Doctor responded. As he had instructed, he tugged at one side of the box – Clara quickly took up the other side. The two bumped up the steps, the box unevenly colliding into their knees (well, in Clara's case, it was her shins. She was much shorter than the Doctor, after all). It was much heavier than Clara thought, too – the Doctor obviously hadn't been exaggerating.

They finally managed to get to the front of the console. Clara and the Doctor dropped the box without even a word to each other – the two had simply both decided at the same time that enough was enough.

"I think that's enough of an arm workout for today," Clara said, slumping against the console.

"And then we'll just have to move it somewhere else," the Doctor murmured.

"Not now," Clara groaned. "Or at least give us a few minutes." She looked over at the box again. "Is there any way to make it at least a _little_ lighter?"

"By finding the map inside," the Doctor replied. He tapped the box lightly. "The _Calor resistentia_ are useless in cold climates – they thrive off of the heat, hence the name. By living in hotter temperatures, they become more intelligent – more likely to survive – basically their own deities. This wonderful piece of engineering was one of their better works. It was designed not to lose its own weight until it was fully solved – which was also why if it was taken away, the thief would be weighed down."

"Smart," Clara nodded. She drummed her fingers against the box. " _So_ – you said that the only thing we need to do to make this thing lighter is to solve it…"

"I couldn't even get ahold of it," the Doctor grumbled. "No point in it. I'll just have to pick it back up for a slower day than this one." He started to pick it up, but Clara slammed a hand over the top of it.

"No," she said. "Come here – let me fix it."

"Clara –"

"Come on," Clara said, a smile twinging at her lips. "Let me give it a shot. It's been bothering you, so let me try."

There were a few seconds of silence.

Then, the Doctor dropped the box in front of Clara.

"Thank you," she hummed cheerfully, placing her hands on the box. She looked over the designs – triangular, all with sharp edges and unexpected curves and lines. Clara pressed her lips together. Perhaps the designs were some kind of code – that was usually what the case would be.

She tried to think of a reason why the Doctor might not have been able to solve it yet. He might have been a little more scatterbrained than usual today (that doesn't happen all the time, but sometimes it does). He might just plain be frustrated, which sometimes happened as well. Or…maybe the problem might just be a little simpler than the Doctor had anticipated.

Clara looked down at the box again. The Doctor had said that the _Calor resistentia_ were complicated in their designs, flourishing in their engineering techniques the hotter it got –

But what if the answer was still simple? Maybe the Doctor had set himself up with that fact, thinking that solving the box and unlocking the map would require some clever formula or solution.

Clara looked over the designs again.

 _Triangles…lines…curves._

Clara's eyes searched the box's corners – the box's top – bottom –

 _A-ha._

They all met.

They were all sitting at the centers of the box…

A grin spreading across Clara's face, she pressed her hands against the meeting points.

The box lit up. A bright, tuneful fanfare blasted through its thin walls, and Clara staggered back with a laugh. "I did it!" she shrieked, clapping her hands together. She turned to the Doctor. "Did you see that? You had to see that."

"You did," the Doctor replied, amused. "You – of course. I hadn't seen it before –"

Clara grinned, swinging an arm around the Doctor's shoulders. (She had to stand a little on the tips of her toes to do so, but that didn't matter.) "Come on, then," she said happily. "We've got a city to explore with this new map."

* * *

 **A/N -** But on a better note, I admired how Steven Moffat and the other _Doctor Who_ writers tied up the whole motif of "the hybrid" in the show. I loved how everything seemed to add up towards the finale (as all _Doctor Who_ seasons do). I'll admit that I was a bit skeptical of season nine at first (mostly because I was still attached to season eight and its fairytale-esque atmosphere), but now that I've re-watched the season, I'm much happier to say that I enjoyed this season. (I'm forever going to miss seeing Jenna Coleman on my television screen, though. *sighs* And while I know I'll eventually accept the new companion, I feel like it's going to be hard. Ah, well.)

Reviews are always nice! (Besides, we need a Whouffaldi support group, don't you think?) Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not.


	5. I'll walk you home

My Internet is acting up today. *groans loudly* But I managed to write this thing! Hopefully, I can post this without too much trouble...

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Five._

 ** _"I'll walk you home."_**

"Miss Oswald?"

"Hm?" Clara's head jerked up from the mound of papers she was working on. She scribbled a neat grade at the corner as one of her students – a small girl named Sydney – walked up to her desk. Sydney was one of the quieter ones in the class, which Clara was always grateful for. She didn't seem to show up too much after school, but then again, it always seemed that Sydney was on top of her own schoolwork.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Clara asked kindly, tucking away her papers.

"No, Miss Oswald," Sydney replied politely. "But there's a man outside for you."

Clara felt her lips twitch into a smile. "Does he have grey hair? Angry eyebrows?"

Sydney shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I…suppose so," she responded. "Though I wouldn't call his eyebrows angry, Miss Oswald."

"Then what would you describe them as?"

"…stern?"

Clara let out a light laugh. Standing up, she said, "Well, thank you, Sydney."

"You're welcome!" With that, Sydney started to walk out of the door, only stopping short in front of someone. Clara heard her squeak something out, and when she looked back up, she found the Doctor standing in the doorway. He scooted a little ways from Sydney, and while she ran out of the room, he called after her, "Are you paying attention to Miss Oswald's class?"

Sydney stopped short. "Er…yeah," she replied uncertainly.

Clara couldn't help but to giggle as the Doctor's face softened. "Good," he said. "One less child to be suspicious of."

The corner of Sydney's lips tugged into a puzzled smile. "Alright," she only said.

Once she was out of earshot, Clara said lightly, "Sydney's one of my top students. She was the one who wrote that essay on Jane Austen – with historically accurate evidence to support her claims." She grabbed her folders, stuffing them into her bag. "But anyways, what's the occasion for today? Do we have any aliens to fight? Another trip to the twenty-fifth century? Or – _or_ …" Clara grinned, holding up a finger. "Another trip to Jane Austen's house? Because our last visit was _fantastic_ , and I promised her we'd see each other again."

"Is that what you'd like?" the Doctor asked, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Clara beamed at him. "Well, of _course_ ," she answered, walking around her desk. "It's Jane _Austen._ "

"Then to Jane Austen, we'll go."

Clara grinned again. Holding up her bag, she told the Doctor, "Just let me drop this off at my apartment, yeah? Don't want to lug this around – and I've been trying not to leave my schoolwork in the TARDIS. Last time I took it with me, I forgot to bring it back with me to class – and then I was nearly a week behind report cards." Clara shook her head. "Thank God you came when you did, or else the headmaster would still be yapping at me about it."

"That's fine," the Doctor replied. "I…left my TARDIS at your apartment, though."

"Really?" Clara asked, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "That's new. What's the reason?"

"I wanted to walk you home," the Doctor responded simply.

Clara felt a rush of affection for the Doctor, who was smiling almost shyly now. She walked forward, briefly placing a hand over the Doctor's cheek. Rubbing the side of his face for a moment, Clara said softly, "You're sweet." With that, she dropped her hand and returned the Doctor's smile. "Come on, then. It's a bit of a walk, isn't it?"

"It is," the Doctor replied, following Clara out of the classroom. "But compared to what we're used to –"

"Definitely not too much," Clara agreed.

The two headed out of the school and onto the parking lot. It had rained earlier that day, and the pavement was dark and slippery. Still, Clara walked across without too much trouble. Her shoes, she knew, would make funny squeaking sounds on the TARDIS floor later, but the Doctor wouldn't mind it too much.

"Is your motorcycle still at the shop?" the Doctor asked after some time.

"Yup," Clara responded. "Something funny with the engine. Had to get it checked out and repaired." She drummed her fingers against her bag's strap. "I don't mind, though – could always use with a little more exercise."

"You've got a car," the Doctor pointed out.

"You know me – I don't like driving." Clara shot the Doctor a sly look. "Especially when I have you popping in and out all the time."

The Doctor opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, there was a loud revving sound from behind them. Clara stood on the tips of her toes to catch a look at what it was – probably some obnoxious teenagers trying out new cars – and only saw the flash of bright lights before she was being roughly tugged away from the pavement. Clara felt her feet make impact with the soft dirt – and then she was stumbling into the Doctor's chest, feeling his hearts pound rhythmically to her ears.

Clara couldn't look back up until she heard a spray of water – a few gleeful shouts – and then the Doctor was gently holding her out in front of him, asking, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Clara replied, bewildered. She looked out after the car that was driving away. She could see exhaust fumes hiding the bright red lights of the car – and with a soft scoffing sound, she said, "Well, that's _one_ reason why I don't like driving."

"They were going to run you over, those damn morons," the Doctor grumbled, starting down the sidewalk. Clara noticed how he was watching her walk next to him – as though he was making sure that she, too, was going to stay on the sidewalk. Clara found this funny – unnecessary, of course – but oddly touching.

"Well, they didn't," Clara said lightly. "Thanks to you." She gestured to the apartment buildings growing in the mist. "Besides, we're almost home." She shot the Doctor a smile. "Mission accomplished."

The Doctor still looked annoyed – his eyebrows were drawn together in that indignant way of his – but at Clara's smile, the tension in his face slowly lessened.

"Mission accomplished," he replied.

* * *

 **A/N -** Reviews are appreciated! Constructive criticism is allowed, but flames are not.


	6. Have a good day at work

I actually forgot to update this story in a while. (Oops.) Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to a better year!

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Six._

 ** _"Have a good day at work."_**

"I can't travel today."

The Doctor looked up from the console. Eyebrows furrowing, he asked, "Why?"

"Dad's sick," Clara replied matter-of-factly, leaning against the doors. "Linda's out in Ireland to visit family – my nan's looking after her neighbor's dogs." She adjusted her coat, adding, "I'm driving up to see him now." She looked up to see the Doctor giving her an almost disappointed look. It wasn't too obvious – the Doctor's expressions never were – but it was definitely _there._ His eyebrows were slightly knitted together – his shoulders rounded over just by a fraction – his eyes were just a tiny bit wider.

"Don't give me that," Clara tsked, walking forward. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she said, "Besides, I'm not saying that you _can't_ come along – but…" She pressed her lips together. Giving the Doctor's shoulder a quick pat, Clara said decidedly, "I'm not too sure about how my dad will react. He only met you a few times, after all." She tilted her head to the side. "I'll give you a call, if you're really lonely," she added lightly, though she was only partly joking.

The Doctor seemed to see that, too. "I'll be fine," he replied. "Just don't get sick yourself."

"Me? Nah," Clara grinned. "Strong immune system." She looked over the Doctor's shoulder. "Besides, looks like you've got some plans on your own." She scooted around the Doctor, dropping her hands on the console. Clara leaned forward, eyeing the screens sitting in front of her. "See? You've got places to go."

"And without a Clara Oswald."

"You'll be fine."

"So sure?"

Clara smiled again. "I'm very sure," she replied. She drummed her fingers against the console. "Just don't put yourself away for over a week. We all know how that ended up last time." Clara spun around on her heel and skipped up the steps, reaching for the books on the shelves. "Do you mind if I borrow one of your newer books? I've been out of things to read – and I might be able to have some wiggle room while I'm taking care of my dad. I've done most of my grading, too – _yes,_ I've temporarily stopped procrastinating. How marvelous is that?"

"Nothing wrong with procrastination," the Doctor called after Clara. "I do it all the time."

"Only _I_ do not have a TARDIS," Clara sang.

"You have me."

Clara whirled around, hands still latched over the book. She had chosen one of the older classics that the Doctor had tucked away – one of the unpublished editions of the manuscript of _Emma_. (And while it wasn't her favorite of the Jane Austen books – not exactly the classical _Pride and Prejudice_ , but it was still a good one. Besides, she found that re-reading Jane Austen books was her way of re-visiting that joker.) "I have you," she agreed. She ran down the steps, tucking the book close to her side. "I'll have you popping in and out often enough."

Clara rested against the railing of the steps. "Alright then," she said, flipping through the pages of the book. "I'll have to get going soon. Anything you need me to know right now? You know how you do that sometimes – wouldn't want you accidentally materializing in the bathroom again."

"For the record, I didn't _actually_ materialize in the bathroom," the Doctor argued, walking around the console. "It was next to the toilet, but that doesn't make it actually materializing – I didn't choose –" The Doctor was cut off by a quick laugh from Clara.

"I know," she said, shaking her head. "I was teasing." She tossed the book up in the air, catching it by one hand. "Any plans to where to go from here on out?"

"No idea."

"Will it involve saving people?"

"Possibly."

Clara grinned. "Then you'll be fine." She skipped up to the Doctor until they were standing right next to each other. Clara reached out briefly to squeeze the Doctor's hand, saying lightly, "Have a good day at work."

"Have a nice time with your father."

"I'll tell him you said hello," Clara said, heading up to the doors.

"Will he remember me?"

"I'm pretty sure he will," Clara replied cheerfully. "You're a bit hard to forget about." She was about to leave the TARDIS when the Doctor called after her, "What if I have a bad day?"

Clara paused. "What?" she asked, turning around.

The Doctor only shrugged his shoulders. "I have the occasional bad day at – well – 'work'. What'll I do if I have a bad day?"

Clara patted her fingers against the side of the door. "Well," she said decidedly, "the answer should be obvious, shouldn't it?"

"It really isn't."

Clara rested the side of her face against the door. "Oh, come on," she said lightly. She pushed herself off and headed for the Doctor again. Leaning forward, she continued, "If you have a bad day, then you'll just have to come by again."

With that, Clara gave the Doctor an affectionate poke on the forehead and spun around, racing out the doors.

* * *

 **A/N -** I can't believe we're back on hiatus. (I watched the Christmas special - I was sad that we couldn't see Jenna Coleman on our television screens again, but I remembered why I loved River Song's character so much. And while I'll always be a Whouffaldi shipper, I felt sad for River when she gave that whole speech about how the Doctor doesn't say 'I love you'. That. That hurt a little.)

Reviews would be nice! (I know there's more than two people reading this story, so I'd appreciate it if you guys could take the extra two seconds to post a review?) Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not! (Oh, and is anyone else facing the problem where reviews don't show up even after it's posted? Because that has been happening with my other stories, and I don't know if it's just me or if it's a problem on this website.)


	7. I dreamt about you last night

I have a thousand of things to do right now, but what am I doing? _What am I doing?_ Updating this story because I have _no self-control_ , that's why.

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Seven._

 ** _"I dreamt about you last night."_**

She was in her bathrobe when the TARDIS appeared in her bedroom. Usually, the Doctor showing up in her apartment didn't bother her – she had grown incredibly used to it – grown to love it, in fact – but today, Clara found herself startling backwards. She had been carrying a mug of coffee, too, and it almost splashed down her front. However, at the last second, she only just was able to get the mug away from her before the hot liquid could slosh around any further.

As the TARDIS started to materialize in front of her, Clara stole a glance at the alarm clock sitting by her bed.

It was two thirty in the morning.

Clara placed her mug on the side-table and plopped down on her bed, waiting patiently for the doors to open. She found herself tapping her feet nervously against the floor, her fingers just dancing alongside the blankets (which had been messily thrown around the room).

 _You're being ridiculous,_ Clara thought to herself, swallowing hard. _Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine._

It had been forever since she last had a nightmare, too. Which was funny, to be honest – most people would look at her life and tell her that she _should_ be getting nightmares every night, especially considering what sort of stuff _she_ faced all the time. Only Clara never _did_ get nightmares. Sure, she got afraid. Everyone got afraid. Everyone had monsters hiding under the bed.

Only Clara (at least, she believed, anyways) never got those nightmares because unlike most people, she knew how to fight _against_ the monsters. She knew how to take one good look at them before dismissing them with a wave of her hand. She knew how to stare them down and send them back to whatever hole they've crawled out of. She knew how to outsmart them, using nothing but her wits and her experience.

Clara Oswald never got nightmares because she knew how to _win._

But tonight had been funny. Tonight had been strange.

(Tonight had been terrible.)

The sound of the doors creaking to an open brought Clara's focus back to the TARDIS. The Doctor was standing in the doorframe, his sunglasses sitting at the bridge of his nose and a guitar slung around his shoulders. He looked ridiculous, as usual – and a bit frenzied. There was nothing wrong with the image. _Nothing._

"Clara," the Doctor said, grinning. "You're awake! Good! I was scared you'd still be asleep – bad things always happen when you're asleep." He hopped around the blankets on the ground, and after a moment of observing the bedroom, he asked, "Have you been busy? I don't think I've ever seen your room messy before." His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Or…new boyfriend?"

If Clara had the strength to, she would have grabbed a pillow and thrown it at him. Instead, she just shook her head and replied, "Bad night."

At this, the Doctor came to a stop. "Bad night?"

"Yes, well, I _am_ capable of having those, believe it or not," Clara muttered, pushing herself off the bed. She grabbed her coffee – took one long, hard look at it, and walked out to the kitchen. She heard the Doctor following her but didn't bother turning around to face him. She let the warm mug sit in her hands for a few minutes before dumping the contents into the sink. Clara watched the dark stuff swirl into the steel before disappearing forever down the drain – and with a sigh, she placed the mug on the counter. There was no point in drinking coffee this early, anyways.

"I didn't mean it that way," the Doctor said when Clara turned around. His eyebrows were knitted together, his lips folded into a tight frown. "Everyone has bad nights. Terrible ones, even. Sometimes. Occasionally. That happens."

"If you're wondering if I had a terrible night, then no – I didn't have a terrible night. Just a bad one. Just a not-so-good one."

"That happens quite a lot, too."

Clara moved past the Doctor, switching her voice into a brighter, cheery one. "Yeah, well – any particular reason why you're here tonight, Doctor? Do the mermaids need saving again? Because I haven't gone swimming in a while. I think I might have left my swimming suit in your TARDIS again, too, which would be pretty convenient, all things considered."

"Do you _want_ to see if we can save mermaids again?" the Doctor asked, taking the sunglasses off his face.

"I don't know," Clara replied shortly. "I just thought you might – forget it. Never mind." She snapped her fingers. "I'm still in my bathrobe. Hang on." She walked out of the kitchen, shrugging her bathrobe away from her shoulders. Clara pushed herself into her bedroom and closed the door on the Doctor, adding, "Just give me a minute!"

Clara ducked down to her dresser, quickly pulling open the drawers. She wasn't looking for anything in particular to wear – just something she could run easily in. (Especially since they did that quite often – running; this was usually Clara's excuse to not go out for a run in her own free time. Why bother with fitness when she was burning calories just by going on an adventure?)

"Clara?" the Doctor called from the other side of the door.

"Yeah – just give me a minute!" Clara yanked out a pair of pants. She preferred skirts and dresses over pants, but this would have to do for today. She wasn't feeling picky.

"You're doing the thing again."

"What thing?" Clara asked, hopping around. She just had one leg in her jeans. _Dammit,_ she thought, frustrated. She shoved her other leg into the jeans, and for the next twenty seconds, she was helplessly jumping around her room to yank them up. Clara made a mental note to just go with a skirt next time.

"The avoiding thing."

Clara stopped short. She looked down at her clothes – she was still wearing her sleeping shirt. Fine. As long as she wasn't naked, it'd all be fine.

Clara yanked open the door, standing on the tips of her toes so she'd be face-to-face with the Doctor. Still, sadly, the Doctor managed to tilt his head down just a little bit. (One day, Clara was sure that the Doctor would have to regenerate into someone shorter. Or at least someone just a tiny bit taller than her – not a whopping ten inches taller than her.)

"I'm fine," Clara said simply. "I'm not doing any avoiding thing."

"We don't have to go on an adventure today," the Doctor replied, pocketing his sunglasses. "We could always stay here."

"You don't _want_ to stay here," Clara replied, turning around. She stooped down to pick up her fallen bathrobe and threw it carelessly on her bed.

"Who says that?" the Doctor asked. Clara could hear bewilderment in his voice now, which she laughed off. Still, the Doctor continued, "I like your apartment. It's very Clara-Oswald-like."

Clara gave the Doctor a sidelong glance. "As opposed to?"

"Not Clara-Oswald-like. Boring furniture. No cozy chairs. Or colorful books. Or houseplants. You've got a few of those, you know. One of them is in dire need of watering. And another could afford to be put out in the sunlight a little more, by the way."

Clara let out a short sigh. "Right," she said, wiping her hands down on her jeans. "I'll get to that. Is that all?"

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. "Clara."

Clara didn't miss a beat. "Doctor."

"We don't have to leave right away."

"I know."

"Do you?" the Doctor asked, slowly disentangling his guitar from his back. He placed it in front of the TARDIS, saying in a quieter voice, "You're tired. Probably not a good time to go running about right now." With that, he sat down on the edge of Clara's bed, taking off his shoes.

Clara stood in front of him. "What are you doing?"

"Well," the Doctor said, placing his shoes neatly in front of the bed, "what does it look like?" He looked up. "Bad nights are something serious to look at, Clara. How terrible would it look if I just _left_ when you've told me you just had a bad night?"

Despite herself, Clara felt something warm in her chest. "You can't be serious."

"Bad nights are serious. So am I."

Clara let out a long sigh. And then, looking up at the ceiling, she said, "Move over."

The Doctor obliged immediately, and then Clara was lying down, her arms at her sides and her legs dangling slightly over the edge of the bed. Her feet sometimes knocked into the Doctor's every once in a while – and they knocked together even more when the Doctor lay down beside her, too.

"I dreamt about you last night," Clara finally confessed. "It wasn't a good dream." She rolled over on her side, resting the side of her face with her hand. The Doctor was facing her now, his eyes searching hers curiously.

"What happened?" the Doctor asked.

Clara's heart skipped a beat. "Why would you want to know?"

"Dreams are funny things, Clara," the Doctor responded. "Sometimes, they could occur because of something we ate – or it could have something to do with a memory being wriggled out of some corner of your head – or it could be a fear – or a premonition."

"Which are just memories in the wrong order," Clara murmured. "You said that, remember? When we met Ashildr?"

The Doctor's face clouded over momentarily. "Yes," he said decidedly. "When we met Ashildr."

They were quiet for a while.

"What happened in the dream, Clara?" the Doctor asked at last, his voice only barely louder than a whisper.

Clara tried not to look at the Doctor. "You forgot about me," she answered quietly. "You saw me and…you just didn't _really_ see me. You didn't know who I was. Or at least, you _thought_ you knew – but you couldn't tell for sure…" She was having trouble breathing now. Clara let the rest of her words drift away from her.

"It's just a dream," Clara managed to say, more to herself than to the Doctor. "That can't happen, can it? It won't." She looked over to the Doctor, who was staring down at the blankets. "Doctor? I'm right, aren't I?"

Clara waited for three seconds before the Doctor replied, "Of course, Clara. It's probably something you ate, then."

Clara felt herself relax a little, though it was only by a little. She forced on a smile and turned back around so that her eyes would be focused on the ceiling.

"Good," she managed to say. "Because you know too much about me to just forget, don't you think?"

* * *

 **A/N -** *whistles very casually*

Reviews are always great! Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not.


	8. Take my seat

It's snowing right now! And I'm also incredibly tired. (I just got back home from a track meet - let me just tell you that waking up at six in the morning on a Sunday was not exactly something that I wanted to do, but I got up and stayed at the track meet. I ran a 1K race and went to do a high-jumping event. Both went pretty terribly for me, but you know, whatever, right? The important thing is that I tried and finished both events completely.)

But now that I'm home, I'm extremely tired. (I took a nap. And also watched Netflix.) However, I managed to drag myself out of bed and write this thing. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Eight._

 ** _"Take my seat."_**

"So this is what the human race has come down to."

Clara, for perhaps the millionth time in a row, resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she replied, "You're just annoyed that you've lost your TARDIS. _Again._ "

Like a child, the Doctor sulked, "I haven't _lost_ my TARDIS, Clara. It only disappeared to…somewhere safer. It panicked."

"It's New York City – of _course_ it'd panic," Clara muttered. "It's a given when you're in this place!" Her words took on a slightly shrill tone – and too late, there were already some people on the subway shooting Clara and the Doctor annoyed looks. One of the older women scooted a little away from the two, giving them a suspicious stare.

"Congratulations, Clara Oswald," the Doctor murmured under his breath. "Insult New Yorkers. That ought to work."

"Oh, _quiet_ , you," Clara snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "We are not talking until we get to wherever the TARDIS went."

"Probably somewhere in Virginia."

Clara couldn't help herself. "Why Virginia?"

"Anywhere is safer than New York City."

Clara harrumphed and turned back around. "The silent game starts now," she said pointedly.

"Ah, yes, that's right. Let's start to revert to the oldest _I'm-cross-with-you_ game to get a point across." The Doctor's voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Clara didn't react. She kept her eyes glaring at the window across from her. She could see her reflection – and she was somewhat pleased to find that even in the slightly distorted image of herself, she looked awfully annoyed. Annoyed and slightly bug-eyed. Whichever – it would at least keep people from looking at her any longer.

It wasn't even like Clara would usually get angry when the Doctor lost the TARDIS. After all, this had happened before on multiple occasions – but today, Clara was _not_ in the mood for it. The only thing that actually happened in New York was almost getting run over by a taxi (and then a few angry protestors. Clara wasn't sure what they were protesting – there was just a lot of shouting). Of course, there was sightseeing to do, but by the end of it, Clara was tired. There were blisters all over her feet at this point, and she was looking forward to taking a long nap.

And…fine. She was mostly bothered that besides the angry protestors and the terrible driving, New York was _normal._ There weren't any aliens. There weren't any interesting, potentially dangerous things for the Doctor and Clara to uncover. And while that was a terrible thing to wish, Clara couldn't help but feel the slightest bit disappointed.

 _You've gotten to used to this,_ a small voice whispered at the back of Clara's mind. _That's what's wrong with you. You can't honestly expect to escape by the fingernails each time you travel. You should be counting your blessings you're not risking your life all the time._ Clara brushed the thought aside. Last year, she might have been relieved to realize that there wasn't any danger. But today, she couldn't concentrate on anything else.

The subway came to a short stop. Clara had to press herself a little deeper into her seat as a sudden flurry – _flurry,_ Clara thought, her lips curling into the briefest of smiles. _Flurry_ seemed to be the perfect word for busy New Yorkers – of people flooded into the subway. A family of five headed inside, along with a happy-looking couple, and a few middle-aged business men. They all looked rather official, talking away on their phones and looking ready to burst.

Clara politely scooted down a little as the family looked for a place to sit. The mother – a woman with tired, kind eyes – shot Clara a brief, relieved smile as she sat down. Clara only smiled in return as the mother picked her son up and placed him in her lap in an effort to take up less space. Clara felt her heart warm slightly at the sight, and though the family in itself was loud (there was another boy and a girl in the family. They wouldn't stop arguing over their phone chargers), Clara felt her annoyance ebb away a little. She even managed to shoot the Doctor a brief look, though he wasn't focusing on the family.

Or maybe he was and just pretending not to.

No matter. Clara turned her attention back to the other newcomers in the subway. She tried not to scoot any closer to the Doctor, but as more people crowded in, she was beginning to see the dilemma of possibly having to force herself to get closer to him.

However, just when Clara was sure she was going to be infinitely pressed against the Doctor, the doors closed. Clara let out a breath of relief, shooting a thankful glance at the few centimeters of space between herself and the Doctor. It wasn't that _she_ had a problem with actually touching him – but right now, when she wasn't in the best of moods with him, it'd be better not to.

"Hey! You!"

Clara frowned, looking up to see a business man snapping his fingers at her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, puzzled. "Are you talking to _me_?"

"Yeah, you," the man replied, snapping his fingers again. He was holding up a phone, an annoyed look on his face. "Do ya mind if I have your seat? I need to sit down. _Now_." And though the man had asked Clara this, Clara had the strangest feeling that he wasn't looking for a refusal.

"Stop snapping your fingers at me," Clara only said, knitting her eyebrows together in bewilderment. "I'm not a dog."

"Dear _God_ – no, Frank, I wasn't talking to you – there's some lady who won't give me her damn seat –" The man glared down at Clara. "Listen, woman, I've been walking around the streets for a half an hour and I'm tired. Give me your seat, will ya?"

"If you ask like that, I won't," Clara replied huffily.

"What even –"

The Doctor abruptly stood up. "Clara," he said, not looking down at her, "take my seat."

Clara frowned. "What? No," she responded, getting up to her feet. She glared up at the business man, and though the subway was knocking her off balance, she grabbed the Doctor's sleeve to keep herself upright. Wearing her fiercest scowl, Clara replied angrily, "There are plenty of other sections of the subway. Go sit in one of those."

The business man glowered at Clara. "You're a little bitch, aren't you?" he growled.

"I suppose that's why you kept snapping your fingers at me," Clara replied loftily. She pointed down the subway. "Go."

The man shot Clara and the Doctor a dirty glare, but eventually, he turned on his heel and left. Clara plopped back down on her seat. The Doctor sat down with her, the look in his eyes stormy. "I always knew I didn't trust business people for a reason," he said, shaking his head. "They're too stiff. And they wear their neckties like chokers. And they wear too much cologne. It reeks."

"Agreed."

After some silence, the Doctor asked, "Does this mean you're not cross with me anymore? We're talking again."

Clara only let out a sigh. "Let's call it a truce."

"I can work with a truce."

"Good."

* * *

 **A/N -** As someone who has frequently been in NYC, I can tell you that this will happen every once in a while. (Just once in a while, though. Most New Yorkers are actually rather nice when you aren't trying to sell them something.)

Reviews would be great! (Especially today, because _I'm so tired_.) Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not.


	9. I saved a piece for you

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I'm sorry for not updating for so long - school has been a real pain in the butt, but it's officially mid-winter break over here, so hopefully, that means more writing time for me! (Oh, and the track season is finally over! Phew!)

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Nine._

 ** _"I saved a piece for you."_**

"Clara?"

Clara peered down from her magazine to see Archie siting on the floor next to her. The young boy had a book on his lap, and he no longer looked the child he used to be when Clara was still a nanny – but all the same, Archie Maitland had the same innocent look in his eyes that he had carried with himself through adolescence. It had been a few years since Clara had last looked over the Maitland children, but here they were now – Angie was stretched out on the couch, typing away at her phone and occasionally sharing a joke out loud. Archie had been absolutely quiet, flipping through Clara's books and asking about where her souvenirs came from. The two had grown so much…

"Clara?" Archie asked again.

Clara blinked. "Yes?"

"It's your birthday, but you don't look too happy. Why is that?"

"It's because her boyfriend isn't around," Angie sang from the couch.

Clara picked up a throw cushion and chucked it at the girl, saying indignantly, "It's not because of that."

Laughing, Angie swung her legs off the couch and replied mischievously, "Don't worry. We still haven't told Dad about that one time your boyfriend brought us to the amusement park." She cast her phone aside, which Clara noted with some dread. If Angie was looking away from her phone, that meant she was looking for some other source of interest – and Clara preferred to keep her (nonexistent) love life out of it. "Where _is_ the Doctor, anyways?" Angie asked, resting her chin on her hands. "It's been ages since we've last seen his chin. And his bowtie."

Clara averted her eyes, pretending to be interested with a magazine cover. "He went away," she replied as lightly as she possibly could. "And he's been busy. Traveling and all that."

"Shouldn't you be traveling with him?" Angie asked, and though it was an innocent enough question, Clara caught something edgier in her voice. Again, Clara threw a throw cushion at her. It missed, and Angie was left laughing over her former-nanny's obvious aggravation.

"Leave her alone, Angie," Archie said crossly. "What happened to Clara's boyfriend isn't really our business."

"But it is! She was our nanny!"

"Clara, can I have another piece of cake?" Angie asked exasperatedly. Clara felt a sudden burst of affection for the boy and with a nod, she stood up and left the sitting room. She heard Angie sigh dejectedly ("I was only joking around, Archie – _God_ "), but Clara set on cutting off another slice of cake. Mr. Maitland had brought it himself before wishing Clara a happy birthday.

It was her birthday today, obviously.

She'd be twenty-nine years old.

What a thought.

Actually, Clara wasn't sure what to think about her birthday being today. So far, the day had been tear-achingly normal, and to her absolute chagrin, the Doctor hadn't even stopped by. Clara had tried not to get so worked up about it; knowing the old man, he was probably stuck between some Daleks and Cybermen again – but still, it stung just the tiniest bit. There _was_ , of course, the slightest chance that the Doctor might end up coming at Clara's doorstep two weeks later, probably with birthday greeting…but then Clara would have to tiredly explain to him that her birthday was days ago…and, as usual, he had been late for it.

And from there, the situation could go in a number of ways. Which would be complicated and unnecessary and certainly not comfortable for either of them.

Clara hesitated before leaving the kitchen. There was still quite a bit of cake left – and it was good cake. Clara only had a slice before retiring back to her sitting room, where she was sure she wouldn't be tempted to take another piece.

"Oh, it's my birthday," Clara muttered, taking out another plate from the cupboard. "To hell with eating healthy. I'm going to indulge." As soon as those words were said, Clara felt a bit more confident and ready in continuing with her halfhearted birthday celebration. She carefully pushed aside Archie's plate – and then loaded on a slice of the cake onto her own.

Before Clara could leave the kitchen for good, she decided to get a slice for Angie, too. A peace offering, she figured, if anything.

Balancing the three plates carefully, Clara headed into the living room. Angie was still on the couch, and Archie had migrated from Clara's books to schoolwork. Clara gingerly sat down on the ground and distributed the cake, which earned her a chorus of "thank you"s and a better attitude from Angie.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of watching a movie and listening to Angie complain about the kids in her school ("honestly, Clara, they're ridiculous. _I_ told her that if she didn't want to kiss him, then she shouldn't have done it. But _no_ , she wanted to be polite so that twat. Don't you think that's utterly stupid?") – and, more importantly, slowly finishing the cake. It wasn't until there were two slices left did Clara put the cake back in the kitchen.

"What'd you do that for?" Angie complained.

"I don't know," Clara replied truthfully. "But who knows – I might need it again."

Angie wrinkled her nose. "You can be weird."

"Or I can be preservative. Come on, tell me more about that new classmate of yours."

Angie eventually broke out a game of cards, which shut Angie up. The three all sat around the carpet, shouting themselves hoarse about who cheated and who didn't and who won and who lost and all things related to everything that came with an intense game of _Go Fish._

Clara was about to suggest another round of the game to ease the soreness of losing when suddenly, the cards flew out of her hands. She stood stock-still as a familiar sound filled her apartment. The rest of the cards fluttered off the carpet – and suddenly, Angie and Archie were both squealing, "It's him!"

 _Oh, God, it's him,_ Clara thought faintly, and without another word, she stood to her feet and turned around to find a familiar blue box sitting right next to her couch.

The Doctor's head emerged from the doors a moment later. He turned his head from side to side and, after a pause, he grinned. "Oh, good," he said, stepping out of the TARDIS. "I've landed right this time." He looked down at Clara. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"Am I late? Terribly late?"

Clara couldn't help herself. She felt a corner of her mouth tug into a smile. "Not terribly," she replied. She bent down and held up a plate. "Saved a piece for you."

"…is that the Doctor?"

Clara and the Doctor both turned to see Angie and Archie taking in the TARDIS with wide eyes. _Ah,_ Clara thought. In the hassle of hearing the TARDIS, she had nearly forgotten that the Maitland kids were still there.

"He is," Clara replied, neatly cutting off the last piece of cake.

Angie narrowed her eyes, and for a moment, Clara's heart clenched. She waited for the teenager to say something – to point something out – or maybe even call her father –

Instead, Angie grumped, "You should have come earlier."

"I'm working on that," the Doctor replied, forking away at his cake. "How's your phone?"

"Still working."

"Good, that."

Angie sat back down on the ground. "Do you wanna play _Go Fish_?"

"Wouldn't mind."

Clara grinned for real this time, sitting down next to the Doctor. She hummed _Happy Birthday_ to herself for the rest of the night.

* * *

 **A/N -** And my birthday's also coming up in three days (Feb. 17), so I thought this was fitting.

As always, reviews would be great! Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!


	10. I'm sorry for your loss

Hello, everyone! It's me again! I know it's been a while since I've last updated but as of late, things have been hectic. (I got my first part-time job a week and a half ago, and with that on top of studies and extra activities, it's been a little hard to keep up with writing time.) But today, I was able to squeeze in this quick chapter!

Enjoy!

* * *

 _Hidden Message Ten._

 ** _"I'm sorry for your loss."_**

His TARDIS wasn't listening to him again. It usually took him where he needed to go – and that would always be Clara's apartment. (Actually, that was usually the default setting. The Doctor supposed he could always try to program the TARDIS into taking him someplace else, but he never got around changing that setting. He privately liked the idea of being able to show up in Clara's apartment in times of danger – the thought always reassured him, especially on bad days.)

But today, every time the Doctor poked his head out of the TARDIS, he wouldn't find Clara's small bedroom or her colorful sitting room. He wouldn't smell the shampoo Clara always used or the lilies that sat on her windowsills.

Instead, it'd be the smell of wet earth and over-pollinated flowers that would hit him first. The sunshine would blind him temporarily – and then, once he blinked away the dots in his eyes, he'd survey the land to find that he was standing in the middle of a cemetery. Naturally, the first time the Doctor showed up there, he stormed back into his TARDIS and tried to go back to Clara's apartment.

But the stubborn machine wouldn't go. It'd keep returning to this damn cemetery, and so, with a dejected sigh, the Doctor forced himself out. He marched across the slightly damp ground, carefully making his way past the gravestones before taking a good look around.

The cemetery, for the most part, was completely empty. The Doctor spotted a young couple standing above a grave, their heads huddled together and silent tears streaming past their cheeks. The Doctor was careful to avoid them completely, though he managed to catch a glimpse of the gravestone they were crying over. (A child. Stillborn, if the Doctor was deducing correctly. It was a painful and pitiful sight, and the Doctor was more than relieved to move past it.)

The Doctor kept walking through the lines of the grass, occasionally turning around to see if his TARDIS was still there. It always was, and with each look the Doctor gave it, it seemed to grow in haughtiness and amusement.

 _You're missing it,_ the TARDIS seemed to say. _Come on, old man – look at what you're missing._

"What is it?" the Doctor asked exasperatedly at last, flinging his hands up in the air. "You brought me here for a reason – so what _is_ it?" He spun around on his heel, looking over the cemetery once more. HE had yet to see anything truly useful to figuring out why he was standing there…

And then the Doctor heard footsteps. Quiet, tentative ones at first – but then they sped up, making the Doctor turn around to see who this possible intruder could be –

"What are you doing here?" Clara and the Doctor asked in unison.

Clara stopped short. "I asked first," she said, her hands digging into her coat pockets. "So you have to answer me now."

"The TARDIS brought me here. Wouldn't stop doing it, for some reason." The Doctor didn't miss the way Clara's eyes flicked over his shoulder. A sad smile curved over Clara's lips, and for a moment, her eyes softened.

"Did it now?"

"It did. I was on the way to your apartment – but you're here now. Must have tracked you."

"Because that doesn't sound spooky at all," Clara deadpanned, though her remark didn't hold any of its usual sarcasm or charm. She looked up at the Doctor tiredly. "And now what are you doing?"

"I suppose it's all a part of the mystery. What are _you_ doing here?"

Clara fell silent. Her head bowed forward, and suddenly, the Doctor felt something cold grip the bottom of his stomach. _Of course,_ he thought to himself. Stupid, silly Doctor. They were standing in a cemetery. Clara was here. The TARDIS kept showing up in this place.

"Who was it?" the Doctor asked quietly.

"My nan."

"…oh." The Doctor remembered Clara's grandmother – she had been a sprightly woman with unnaturally bright eyes. And in some ways, Clara shared the same dry and gentle wit her grandmother had. Though the Doctor's meeting with her had been brief, he vaguely remembered rather liking her.

"My dad and Linda are…back home, trying to entertain the guests. I wanted to spend some time alone." Clara's face turned up to the sky, and despite the fact that there weren't any visible tears, the Doctor could still see how Clara's eyes were shinier than usual. Clara, the brave soul she was, only scrubbed at her face briefly before laughing halfheartedly, "It's stupid. I had meant to take her out to lunch this weekend. I called her last week, too, but she just…took a nap. And just..." Clara's voice softened. "My dad says it's better that Nan died peacefully, but –"

Clara didn't bother finishing the rest of her sentence. She rubbed a hand over her eyes again, and the tip of her nose slightly red, she added, "I'm not in the mood to go anywhere today, Doctor."

"I understand."

"So you go and have adventures on your today, yeah?" Clara's lips pressed together into a tight smile. She made a waving gesture with her hands. "Off you go."

The Doctor stayed rooted to the ground. "You're not okay."

"Obviously."

The Doctor was still. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said at last.

"Please," Clara replied, kicking her shoe against the gravel. "I've been hearing that all day. And I suspect I'll be hearing more of it from people when I get home." She shrugged her shoulders, adding, "I'll see you later, I suppose."

She started to walk past the doctor, but just before she could vanish beyond the gravestones completely, the Doctor called after her, "Would you like me to stay?"

Clara paused. The Doctor had to jog up to make sure that she wouldn't suddenly walk away.

"Clara?"

Clara's voice was small.

"Yeah, alright."

The Doctor stayed.

* * *

 **A/N -** As always, reviews would be much appreciated (especially since I've been out of action for a while now). Constructive criticism is alright, but flames are not!


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